Learning The Ways of The Deserter
by Crown Wit
Summary: Life is, at its core, very simple. He resolves to bring peace the only way he knows how and she pledges to never again be controlled by another. It's only when reality sets in that things get complicated. "For the life of me, I cannot seem to understand you." Kouen thinks he should laugh at the irony. "The feeling is mutual." Kouen/Oc
1. There's No I in We

_ONE_ : **There's No I in We**

Kouen Ren thought that he was quite a deal more artistic than his siblings gave him credit for.

Sure, the essence of the "fine arts" evaded him like a horse turd marinated in piss and blood but Kouen Ren was an artist nonetheless. Every day, he wore his confidence like a mantle, self-crafted with experience as his needle and deliberation as his thread. And in this moment, sitting among blowhards and the most deadly types fools, ones with power, in one of the numerous council rooms in Kou's extravagant palace, he felt lucky to have it.

Yes, confidence came in handy in these sorts of situations. But like most things, it meant nothing without the knowledge of how to use it. In his honest opinion, a person of his position should have such overwhelming confidence in themselves that it oozed out of every pore and that, when entering a room, everyone would have no choice but to feel the weight of your presence. It just made everything so much easier.

It had taken twenty-two years but Kouen believed that he had mastered the art of arrogance as well. For when dealing with fools, one cannot give one hundred percent. Always two hundred. It rarely worked out that "I believe such because of reasons x, y, and z" was followed without being challenged. At the end of the day, it was phrases like "because I said so" and "you will do as I say" that got things done.

Arrogance was in his stride, in his gaze, in every idiosyncrasy that made Kouen Ren, Kouen Ren. And it was arguably this feigned arrogance that made him the First Imperial Prince of Kou. That and his reputation for war.

He gnawed subtly on his inner cheek as the debate proceeded. He zoned in and out, ignoring the hot air the council members were spouting and catching only the important bits. Subjugating the Eastern Plains had been tough enough but keeping them united was proving to be the real challenge here. The topic of the debate was such; Karim, an area that had been under the Kou's control for at least a decade, was on the brink of imploding. Two hours in and they still were unable to come to a consensus on how to handle the issue but Kouen had yet to lay down the law. The reason why was simple at its core.

Politics was not his forte.

He was far too blunt for it and cared nothing for the profession in general. Kouen was just as much fighting man as he was an intellectual one. And politics required neither. At least in his opinion. Kouen's brows drew together and his frown deepened. Now that he actually considered it, his brother would be perfect for handling this fiasco. Having more tact in his pinky finger than Kouen did in his entire body, Koumei was a natural diplomat. But then again, could he really send him there alone?

If the in-fighting was bad enough to draw the attention of politicians whose concerns revolved around how to maximize what little power and profit they held, all the way in Rakushou no less, then the place must have been a war zone for quite some time. Kouen would gamble four or five years at the very least.

As to why they were just hearing of the conflict now, it was also quite simple. Distressing, but simple. Secessionist rebels had hijacked and shut down the iron mines about a month ago. And no iron meant no weapons. It was a brilliantly stupid way of catching their attention but effective nevertheless.

After having dealt with their own issues for so long, they wouldn't take kindly to an Imperial Prince appearing out of the blue and giving commands. In laymen's terms, they'd be pissed the fuck off the moment they got word. Angry enough to plot an assassination, perhaps.

In any case, he'd made up his mind to go.

Narrow red eyes jumped from face to face. He stood and all eyes focused on him. "I will ride out to Karim tomorrow with Koumei and my household."

There were a few protests made as a courtesy but the councilmen were relieved to have the responsibility taken off their backs. He could see it on their faces, in their eyes. So Kouen walked out of the council room, shoulders back, head held high, looking every iota the Warmonger Prince that he knew he was.

And before he'd even taken ten strides, who else but his spitfire youngest brother Kouha came bounding up to him, bright-eyed and eager. He could tell what the little prince was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

"I can come with you on the campaign, right?"

"No."

Kouha's excited face fell. He pouted, small hands balled up at his sides. Despite him only being nine years of age, the boy was a force to be reckoned with.

"And why not," he said loudly, crossing his arms. "I'm not a child anymore, brother."

Kouen blinked.

Well, that was...new.

Kouha had never called him 'brother' before. The thought made him smile for an instant.

"I'm strong now!" The boy whipped out a small wooden sword from his robes and started showing off his moves, slashing wildly at the air.

Not too bad for his age but he could be leagues better if he had a proper sparring partner. He would have to arrange that later. The memory of their first meeting came to mind and Kouen was suddenly quite thankful that it wasn't a real sword in his baby brother's hands.

"First of all, it's not a war campaign so there won't be any of the armed combat that you want so badly. Second, until you know the meaning of the phrase 'to lie with a woman' and have executed it, you will always be a child. Third, can you even ride a horse yet?"

The disappointment on his young, cherub-cheeked face gave him his answer. He reached out a hand to ruffle his hair. Kouha, looking more like a mountain lion ready to bite off his hand than a nine year old, turned and stomped off.

Proceeding through the palace with a purpose in mind, servants moved around him like water. They glanced at him, keeping their heads down, but that was about it. He found the servants of Kou's palace to be like spirits. Unseen and unnoticed, they single handedly kept the palace looking shiny and new. Occasionally, he would wonder how they did it. He picked one out and asked whether or not they knew where his brother was. The servant responded that he was in the library so that's where Kouen went.

He found his brother, unsurprisingly sound asleep, surrounded by a certifiable fortress of texts and scrolls. Now Kouen considered himself to be a heavy sleeper but his younger brother made him seem like an insomniac with how deeply he could slumber whenever there was work to be done. The man could fake a coma if it meant getting out of work.

Valuing practicality over everything else, Kouen thought of the best and fastest way to wake his brother. He pulled a few scrolls from the bottom of the pile, sending the mountain of parchment tumbling onto Koumei's head.

Koumei jolted upright in his seat, understandably startled. He noticed his brother and frowned, immediately understanding the situation.

"That was completely unnecessary."

Kouen didn't feel bad. Not in the slightest.

He folded his arms across his chest and responded a little more matter-of-factly than he intended, "Yes, it was."

Koumei, being the overdramatic man that he was, sighed while rubbing his temples in tiny circles. As if it took a tremendous amount of concentration just to keep his eyes open. "What do you want?"

"Where are the scrolls on the Karimi?"

Koumei quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. "The Karimi," he repeated. He jabbed a finger over his shoulder. "Over there. Hang on, I'll get them."

Koumei stood up slowly, stretched, and meandered over to a wall of scrolls.

"So why the sudden interest in the Karimi?"

"Apparently, it's a mess over there. We will be leaving tomorrow to handle all of that."

"Oh yes, _that_. By which I can only assume you're referring to the secessionists trying to overthrow the government, the ever increasing possibility of a slave rebellion, the typical Karimi-Arash related in-fighting and crimes-did you just say we?"

"Yes. _We_. As in you, me, and my household." Kouen paused for a moment. "Chuu'un can come too, if you want."

"...But if I go then who will feed my pigeons?"

"Anyone who is not you."

"Their little systems are extremely sensitive, you know. One missed feeding and they'll just keel over. Dead forever. Unable to take to the open blue skies that they adore so much. I don't trust that just anyone will be able to -"

"You're not getting out of this Koumei."

"No?"

"No."

"Even if I beg?"

"Especially if you beg."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure?"

"Positively."

"Alright then." Koumei came shuffling over. There were about ten to fifteen scrolls piled up in his arms. Most looked as if they'd disintegrate if he so much as breathed on them and all of them were as thick as tree trunks.

"Here they are. All of them."

Kouen stared as his brother gingerly handed them over, like one would do when giving a newborn over to a rambunctious younger sibling to hold for the first time.

"It's not much," admitted Koumei with a shrug. He scratched the back of his head and Kouen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I hope it helps. I threw in some stuff on Arash as well."

"It's plenty."

The two of them were young when their uncle and his eldest conquered the nation of Karim in the unification of the Eastern Plains. They had been around Kouha's age and had participated in the war of unification alongside Hakuren and Hakuyuu. Two kids fighting with the grownups, bleeding with them, killing with them. He can't speak for Koumei who more than likely remembered Karim as clear as daylight, but Kouen's memories of the place were foggy at best.

Some were nothing more than sounds and sensations. The shouting. Blood rushing in his ears. That intense fear that he was going to piss himself at any given moment. The usual things that came with war.

Others were jarring my vivid. He remembered being flat on his ass gawking at a man with an axe raised toward the sky, ready to cleave his head in two. Ever since that day, Kouen had been a firm believer of the famous adage; "the eyes are the windows to the soul". That man had had brown eyes, cold and unfeeling.

He remembered someone's hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him, telling him to run and never come back. Violet eyes, filled with wisdom, cowardice, and a violent will to live.

The three pairs of pale blue eyes, those of his beloved cousins and uncle, had been calm and clear on that day.

Needless to say, any fond memories Kouen might have had of Karim were terribly few if not nonexistent.

* * *

Kouen was alone in his study. He hoped that these texts could shed some light on what his ego had gotten him into. As far as he knew, Karim had been left to its own devices on most matters. In addition to the basic information Koumei had provided him with on the present state of affairs, Kouen knew that their governor was a man of Kou, born and bred. Not expressly loyal but with a decent head on his shoulders. It was nearly night now and out of the twelve scrolls that his brother had given to him, Kouen believed that he had enough time between now and sunrise to get through at least a few of them.

 _ **Understanding the Fate of Arash** :_

 _"I write this by the light of my burning countrymen. The Karimi are everywhere, pillaging, raping, demolishing. There will be few prisoners taken tonight, I fear. They will build their empire with our ashes and yet I still cannot bring myself to say that this grim fate of ours isn't entirely undeserved. We lost the war. As I watch the palace burn from the window of my home, this fact becomes painfully apparent. I can feel the reality of it in every fiber of my being, like a nail being hammered into the brain through the is the end of Arash and I write this with the purpose of explaining why so that other nations may try to avoid our fate. And what a miserable, bloody fate it is. The first fault lies within the culture of complicity..."_

 _ **Before and After: The Karimi Nation** :_

 _"The Karimi were conquerors. It is thought they were once part of the great Kouga Empire, though this is mostly speculation. The only similarity between the two is their reliance on horses…"_

 _"Muders of Arash perpetrated by Karimi are the most common type of crime, even today. There was even a case of a soldier bludgeoning another man to death for no crime at all other than the fact that he possessed the trademark Arash violet eyes but with dark Karimi eyes and skin..."_

 _ **The Hierarchy of Slaves** :_

 _"...By law, any person who is of confirmable Arash origin may be made into a slave. When a child is born in Karim, it is required that the child be taken to the local chieftain for examination. If the child possesses any Arash traits (pale skin, fair hair, violet eyes), then the chieftain places one of his household in charge of watching the family until the child comes of age. Females may start the decade long mandatory service at twelve years while males start at sixteen…"_

 _"...The age difference in service stems from…peculiar belief that while males obviously have the stronger physical constitution, females are more capable of handling pain…"_

 _"...According to the law, the type of service may be determined by the parents although this is rarely enforced. The political system is that of an absolute monarchy. The children belong to the state and the reigning monarch, as 'the father of the state' may override any decision made by the parents."_

 _"Both males and females normally start work in agriculture."_

 _"The lowest and youngest slaves...iron...the middle...the highest are… as a sign…"_

 _"In the case of a child of mixed origins...Karimi and Arash...value is placed on…end...blood."_

The rest was too faded to read. So he rolled the scroll back up with care, set it aside, and took up the next one.

 _ **Culture and Customs of the Karimi** :_

His eyes flitted down the parchment, unfurling the scroll as he went along and gave cursory glances over sections with which he was already familiar.

 _Section I. Introduction_

 _"The closest comparable culture to that of the Karimi is that of the Artemyrans. As in Artemyra, a strong importance is placed on women. However, this society cannot be classified as a matriarchy although it is quite close to becoming one..."_

 _"...they are a very relaxed and cunning people, prone to playing tricks…"_

 _"...In conclusion, the Karimi love their women but they don't love them in positions of power."_

 _Section II. Slaves_

 _"They decorate their slaves to show their wealth. The monarch is usually rather unassuming..."_

 _"Approximately forty percent of the population is made up of Arash slaves."_

 _"If a slave in the custody of the state attempts to escape, any number of punishments…"_

 _Section III. Wildlife_

 _"Located on the very edge of the Eastern Plains, the flora and fauna (like most issues in Karim) are polarized. On the one hand, you have what's typical of the plains; jack rabbits, foxes, wolves, bobcats, mice, deer, bison, bats, vipers...etc. But the south is almost entirely made up of mountainous terrain…"_

 _"Individuals of certain traits, be it personality or physical, are often likened to the animals of the area. The national symbol is the fox..."_

The heavy cloud of sleep crept up on him, making his eyelids droop and blurring both his vision and consciousness. But there was still work to be done. Raising his arm, Kouen gave himself a hearty smack across the face. The sting was jarring enough for him regain focus, if only for a little while, and continue reading.

 _Section VIII. Celebrations_

 _"Feasts are held in honor of the dead and take place immediately after a burial. Fish is always served."_

 _"...It is said that…"_

 _"...ceremonial dances are…"_

 _"Guests are often treated with…"_

 _"...quite often…"_

 _"...a sight to see…"_

With a mixture of wistful visions and bloody memories of Karim running through his head, Kouen drifted off to a rather fitful sleep.

* * *

Darya's violet eyes stared off into the distance, narrowed into slits. She stood with arms crossed, jaw clenched, and fingernails digging into the side of her arm. The wind nipped at her black hair and tossed it in her face but she didn't mind much. What she did mind was her lord and master, the esteemed governor of Karim, fucking around, both figuratively and very literally, when there was a hundred different things that needed to be done before the arrival of Kou's prince and his entourage.

There was no doubt in her mind that they were coming. How could they not come with the stunt those fools pulled? If they didn't watch their step then the lot of them, Darya included, would be dragged into another war with Kou. The mere thought of those bloodthirsty maniacs returning sent shivers down her spine. Sadly, lord Khalil did not share her sense of urgency. He thought it prudent to drink and connive and flirt instead of actively planning a strategy of handling Kou.

Darya tugged at the chain around her ankle. Khalil himself had fastened it to a massive ball of iron right outside the building so that she would have nothing to do but wait and ponder. Knowing Khalil, he wanted her to do the latter. "I believe that one should devote at the minimum, one hour to thought and imagination," he would incessantly remind her. Clever man, Khalil. Clever and strange and deadly.

Sneering down at the damned thing, she gave it a sharp yank but to no feasible avail. Darya huffed, blowing air past her lips and looked at the sky. It was an ocean of foreboding gray. The threat of a storm did nothing to assuage her nerves. She rubbed at the mark on her chest. The old wound ached in response to the coming storm. Nothing good ever happened to Darya during a storm. Her stomach turned, her hands tingled, and her whole body was as tense as a bowstring.

Now, Darya considered herself to be the farthest thing from loyal. In the mind of a slave, there was no room for such a thing as loyalty. Her motivations and choices have consistently been influenced by those which would allow her to best avoid the pain of a whip or a stick or a brand or a fist.

Or at least they had been like that before she'd met Khalil.

Now, she was confused. Happy, though she was frightened to even think the word lest she jinx her good fortune, but terribly confused.

If she ever had the choice of braving the storm and continuing to learn from Khalil under the legal guise of being his slave, there was no doubt which she would choose. Considering it, Darya thought it sad. For all intents and purposes, she owed him everything. He had given her protection and showed a degree of kindness that she had previously thought could be attributed only to the heroes of children's fairytales.

And yet, despite his generosity and teachings, Darya was convinced that, if she ever had the choice, she would always choose the storm.

"I hope the wait wasn't too long."

Having been snapped out of her thoughts, she yelped, nearly jumping out of her skin at the sound of Khalil's mellow voice. She frowned at his snickering face and pointed a thin finger to the ball and chain attached to her ankle.

His jade eyes flashed and the smile faltered.

"Don't be too mad at me," said Khalil, patting her head affectionately. Darya made no attempt to swat his hand away. He took the key that hung from around his neck and lowered himself down onto his haunches. "You know that I had to. For appearances and such." The chain came off with a satisfying clank. He stood and looked expectantly at her.

"What are you going to do about Kou?"

Khalil blinked at her, eyes going wide and mouth forming a small 'o'. As if he'd forgotten something very important. And, without answering, he started walking off at a hurried pace. Darya followed, trailing slightly behind.

"Who knows," he replied eventually with a careless shrug of the shoulders. He did this often, avoiding her questions in the hope that she would ask more. He was a strange man, Khalil. Focused too much on words. He believed with an ardent passion that one's vocabulary is the most valuable weapon that he or she could possess. More so than swords or spears or even magic. The first time he spoke of his little fascination, Darya's response to this had been simple. After he'd pried it out of her, that is. He did a lot of that too. She'd said with her voice soft and uneasy, "Can words kill?"

Khalil believed so.

Darya still needed time to think on it.

One of his favorite pastimes was making her work for her answers, to force him to answer them by some miracle or some slip of the tongue. But that's the thing about her master. He never had slips of the tongue. Whatever information he gave her was deliberate no matter how accidental he may have made it out to be.

That much she had come to understand about Khalil.

He wasn't the type to make mistakes.

"They are coming," she said in a strained whisper. Her violet eyes flitted from Khalil's face to the ground. "Which usually implies that someone is going to die."

"You are overreacting," he nodded to himself thoughtfully, "but correct nevertheless. Someone will die and if the secessionists get their way then it'll be an Imperial Prince, more than likely his Highness, Koumei Ren. And then we'll all be dead." His voice had gained a hard edge at the end.

"Exactly my point."

She could feel his eyes on her as she stared daggers into the ground. Analyzing her. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look down too much?" Darya looked up for long enough to give her master a weak glare. The only form of defiance she dared to attempt in such an open space. She didn't care for him pushing her to be confident at the moment. She was too tired and too afraid to be confident.

They were still in public and thus, by law, she was still a slave.

"Be proud," he said suddenly. "You are the student of one of the world's most renowned scholars. Be proud, Darya."

"A slave has no need for pride. And is it truly wise of you to advocate my cultivation of one of the cardinal vices which has led so many to their bloody deaths? I care nothing for such a silly thing as pride."

She felt his large, warm hand on top of her head again, tousling her hair until it stuck out at odd angles. Shooting him a questioning look, Khalil smiled his signature sign of contentment. She'd said something he'd liked apparently.

"Good, good!" He clapped his hands together in a congratulatory fashion. "You're learning. You asked what we're going to do about Kou?" Violet eyes blinked, a bit startled. Wow. He must have _really_ liked the answer she'd given. "What we're going to do, you and I, is prevent the untimely death of the Kou Empire's Second Imperial Prince at any and all costs during his stay here."

She choked back a laugh.

Due to being locked up in a fancy castle all day with nothing to do but bark orders and pray that someone hasn't used the last of the _good_ perfume, Darya doubted that Kou's Second Prince knew or could even comprehend how much the secessionists wanted another war. If they had to kill an emperor's son to get it, the so be it.

Truthfully, she didn't know all that much about the Second Prince. The First and Third Princes were the more popular subjects of Karim's gossip so any intel she could have gotten on him, however dodgy, depended entirely on the whims of chatty old housewives and doe-eyed girls. Unless, she asked Khalil of course but that would doubtlessly lead to a throbbing headache and Darya would rather not subject herself to that level of stress willingly.

"That sounds like it will be the greatest miracle on this side of the world," stated Darya monotonously and quietly. "I wish you luck in your quest for it will surely be your last."

Trying to prevent the secessionists from killing the prince would be like trying to stop an arrow from hitting you in the eye simply by wishing that it wouldn't. It would be equally as painful.

Khalil seemed to see the same humor in his proclamation that Darya did and laughed. She cracked a smile. She always did like his laugh. Raucous, unrestrained, and highly infective. Soon enough, she found herself giggling alongside him. To protect the life of one whose country had quite literally eaten theirs for breakfast and exacerbated the already festering problems. She knew her master was benevolent but this was getting to be ridiculous.

And then Darya paused, stopping dead in her tracks as her Arash eyes went as wide as saucers. All the tension that Khalil's laughter had assuaged came surging back so fast, her vision went blurry for a few seconds.

"...Did you say we?"


	2. Bound

_TWO:_ **Bound**

Kouha Ren, the illustrious Third Prince of Kou, was plotting the scandal of the century.

Crouched down behind the stables and hidden by the dark, he stifled his eager giggles as he watched the palace lackeys prepare for his brother's journey. Kouha let loose a bubble of laughter at the thought of his brother's face when he would notice. No doubt it would be the funniest thing that he would ever see for as long as he lived. But the young prince wasn't hiding behind the smelly horse stables just for humor's sake. He was on a mission.

Say one thing about the boy, say he's determined. Kouha was going to Karim one way or another.

From his hiding place, he watched the servants running back and forth, keeping his eyes on the prize. There was a wagon a couple hundred feet from him, half full. The last one to be prepped. All he had to do was get inside without being noticed and then he'd have his one way ticket to glory and respect.

Gripping his wooden sword tight, letting the courage flow through him, and whispering small prayers for good luck, Kouha made his move. Skulking about, scurrying from shrub to shrub, from tree to tree, he made his way to the wagon, watching the lackeys closely. They moved slowly, like slugs, oblivious to his presence.

He frowned.

There was a large open space he'd have to cross if he was going to get to the wagon. Most of the servants were congregated there, chatting about things the young prince couldn't hear.

Waiting patiently until the coast was clear, Kouha made a mad dash for it and dove headfirst into the wagon like his brother did that one time when Koumei fell into the fish pond. Not the decorative one with the koi and the little red bridge going across it but the big, big one at the back of the palace. They didn't know he'd been watching then. Watching and laughing so hard that he'd thought his stomach would burst.

He landed with a dull thud on a sack of apples or potatoes or some other round food, upside down with his legs up in the air. A short chortle of victory escaped his lips and then Kouha quickly buried himself underneath the bundles of provisions and waited, eventually falling asleep among various foods and weapons.

* * *

Darya kept her eyes on the ground, hands behind her back. It was silent besides the scratch of pen on parchment. There was a strange feeling creeping around in her chest. Not the usual anxiety but something more foreboding. Her heart pounded in her chest and to be perfectly honest, she was trying her hardest not to freak the hell out.

She blew out a soft, shuddering breath and realized that by thinking about her impending doom at the hands of Kou's army she was most definitely failing at not freaking the hell out.

She'd been tasked with arranging and rearranging the vast amount of literature of Khalil's study and was about to go on a mental monologue on why her anxieties would be better placed elsewhere, preferably nowhere, when Khalil's singsong voice called out to her.

"Fear is an integral part of survival," he started. He was in the mood for a lecture, it seemed. Darya nibbled on her lower lip, glancing irritatedly at him over her shoulder.

For as long as she'd been in his service, she still was unable to handle his eccentricities. What kind of man lectured his _slave_? On _fear_? Oh wait. She was his apprentice. Had been for years now. A scholar in training capable of recalling every detail from every single text she'd ever laid eyes on.

Darya had a tendency to forget the reality of her situation after long outings. Too easy to fall back into that familiar rhythm of passiveness and fear.

She raised her head and let her arms fall to her sides.

Far too easy.

"However, as with all things it is best used in moderation. It is becoming increasingly apparent that you have no such moderation. It must be the Arash side of you."

Darya remained silent for a moment, listening to the scratch of the pen and ignoring the jab at her lineage. He was prying again. She took in a calming breath and released it. "My fear of Kou is perfectly rational."

"How so? They only way you would know that Kou is a clear and present danger to us is if, say, you had prior experience with them?"

Violet eyes cut over to Khalil. He was at his desk, head down, scribbling away but with his usual bemused grin still there, permanently stuck to his face like an ugly battle scar. Anyone else might have gotten the impression that he was amused but Darya of Arash was not anyone else. She knew better. The candlelight cast an eerie glow on him and set his jade eyes blazing.

He was determined this time to know.

Her mouth twisted, eyes flicking down and back up and she shook her head at him. In hindsight, she should've told him years ago like when he'd first asked about it and saved herself the hassle this conversation would bring.

"As your favorite author, Cnaeus of Reim, would say, 'A secret for a secret then!' That's a fair trade. Would you like to know why I'm so accommodating towards you?"

But since she'd sworn up and down time after time that she wouldn't tell him, Darya figured she might as well stick with that.

"If it means that I have to tell you my life story then no. And as my _actual_ favorite author would say, 'There is no worse secret than one which has already been told.' I can go another five years without knowing," she replied.

"You don't like Cnaeus?"

Although she could put this entire issue to bed once and for all by doing what normal people do when someone near and dear to them wanted to know something and just tell the man what he wanted to know.

"I don't particularly dislike him but speaking specifically to Reim's authors, my favorite has been Livius for the past three years."

"Interesting. Could have sworn Cnaeus was more your style."

Khalil sighed, setting his pen down and ran a hand through his neat, inky black hair. Darya swallowed hard. She was in for it now. He folded his hands on top of his desk and met her gaze.

"Ten years ago, we were practically defenseless when Kou invaded. Our country was divided between Arash and Karimi and through the atrocious leadership of the king at the time, we were on the brink of destroying ourselves. It hasn't gotten better with the Emperor's rule but it hasn't gotten all that much worse either."

But discussing her experiences with the war with him would involve digging through her memory and allowing involuntary flashbacks to the undisputed worst four months of her life to rise to the surface.

"It doesn't seem that way. Now, it's almost as if..."

"As if it's the end of us? I remember getting the same feeling right before the war broke out. The same feeling you're experiencing now."

Oh.

 _How perceptive is he?_

"There weren't enough soldiers to fight once the war came," he continued.

Enter Darya and a ton of other kids unfortunate enough to be born with violet eyes.

"So they used the children, Arash ones in particular," she cut in. "They trained them to fight by putting them on the front lines. It was a travesty and after a month of fighting the Karimi threw down their weapons welcomed Kou with open arms. We all know the story."

Oh, there it was. Her memory. Flaring up and filling her mind with images she didn't want to see again. Visions of her number one mistake. Red eyes, opened wide and somewhat glazed over, burning holes into her. Judging her for the treasonous words tumbling out of her mouth.

"It's true that a fair amount of the child soldiers were Arash but they did not make up the majority. The government realized that it would be unwise to throw away their most valuable investments like that. Most of the children sent out to fight off Kou were mixed. Both Arash and Karimi. Like you."

"And your point is…?"

"I need to know, Darya. So that nothing...unexpected happens. The fall of many a great man has been due to the unexpected, you know. I'd rather not be one of them. How about you?"

Darya took a deep breath. _For the love of all that is true and good and **holy** -_

"Yes, they were like me. Children. Most died. I was one of the lucky ones. I lived." Darya conveniently left out the reason why, rubbing absentmindedly at her chest. "I came back from the war with all my limbs attached and a small amount of scars if any to speak of."

"It must have been...dreadful." He sounded shaken. As if he'd expected some different truth than the one she'd given him. "To witness all of that at such a young age."

She nodded.

"Dreadful. An apt choice of wording. War is dreadful. _They_ are dreadful. So you can understand my resistance to the idea of meeting one of the royal princes."

"Two," Khalil corrected.

"Come again?"

"It appears that the princes have more sense than I originally gave them credit for. The First Prince is accompanying his brother to Karim along with his entire household."

Darya felt her jaw drop. "Does the governor know?" Likely not considering Khalil was still here and not at the palace attempting to talk temperamental fool out of doing something crazy. Other than funding the secessionists and no doubt backing up their soon to be assassination attempts on the prince that is.

Khalil picked up his pen and started to write again. "He'll know soon, though it won't be from me."

"Do you think he knows that you're a traitor to their cause?"

He raised a brow, smirking.

"Don't you mean we?"

"Ah well, all things considered, the governor does think that I'm your slave so technically I had no choice in the matter. I am completely innocent of any and everything they could possibly charge me with."

"Oh, would you look at that? It's Darya's sense of humor. It's been such a long time since I've seen it, I thought it might have been lost forever."

"Thank you for the sarcasm, sir. It is much appreciated."

* * *

Seishuu Ri was in quite the emotional predicament.

The sun was dipped halfway below the horizon and he might've thought it a beautiful sight, the way the light painted the plains in burning hues orange if he'd cared at all. But Seishuu was a man of action and bravery, dead set on being the best warrior he could be. He would leave the appreciation of nature to those with more free time and less people to kill.

He'd taken refuge from the heat inside the caravan and was waiting patiently for the two princes to conclude their impromptu meeting.

With his head in his hands and propped up on his knees, the wood of the caravan's edge digging painfully into his ass bones and the wind brushing sweetly against his back and neck, Seishuu debated whether or not he should be excited or worried about their journey to Karim.

On the one hand, Lord Kouen and Lord Koumei were jumping head first into dangerous territory where they could, by all means, be slaughtered like pigs. Metal Vessels could accomplish many things. Amazing, super human things. So could Household Vessels. However, Seishuu knew better than to assume that his lords were invincible. There would be fighting no doubt. And considering Lord Kouen called all of them together to deal with the issues plaguing the area than he guessed that there'd be a great deal of it too.

But on the other hand, perhaps he would have the chance to finally assimilate with his Household Vessel. He prayed it would be something cool. Like Shou En or Kokuton Shuu. That'd be nice. He'd finally be taller than Chuu'un! There was something to look forward to.

Seishuu chose to be excited about Karim.

Snickering at the thought of a sudden growth spurt, he considered that the time was right for a midday snack. He leaned forward, shifting his weight, and grasped a barrel of apples by the rim.

It was more so what the chubby-cheeked pink haired little boy's presence meant for him personally (specifically his well being) that made him shriek like a little girl than the actual shock of seeing a face among the baskets and barrels. Or at least that was what he'd tell everyone to save face.

Seishuu jolted back, almost throwing himself out of the back of the caravan. Flailing wildly to keep inside, he grasped the fabric covered edges of the vehicle and, pulling himself forward just a little too hard, accidentally smacked face first into the slumbering Chuu'un.

Kouha Ren wriggled his way out of his hiding place with a cheeky smile and a dingy wooden sword in his hand.

With a sinking feeling and throbbing forehead, Seishuu Ri suddenly knew that he was in an even deeper predicament than the one before.

* * *

Kouha watched curiously although a bit irritated as the five large men openly discussed what should be done with him. They were making it seem like it was a bad thing he was here instead of appreciating the extra man power. He stood pouting, arms crossed, in between the two normal looking ones. Kouha fought back a very un-warrior-like yelp of fright when the lion looking one cast his eye on him.

"Three days. _Three damn days_ he stowed away back there! How did nobody notice him?"

Tired of being ignored, Kouha spoke up in a loud, commanding voice. Like the one his brother used when he really, really wanted people to listen to him.

"To be fair, I'm really good at hiding. I've played hide-n-seek for weeks in the palace with no one ever finding me." Kouha cringed at his own words. Great warriors don't play hide-n-seek! What was he thinking?

A moment passed where everyone hung their heads in silence.

Then, the taller of the two normal looking ones blurted out, "Dibs on not telling Lord Kouen! Onetwothree not it-"

"Not it!"

"Not it."

"Not it."

"Not it! Oh goddamn it! Goddamn all of you!"

The smallest one of the bunch, the one with the light blue hair, was spitting fire in protest. He was spouting a bunch of curses Kouha hadn't heard before. Colorful, imaginative ones. Kouha tried to keep track of them all, saving the ones that he could into his memory banks in case he needed to use them later on his enemies.

By the time his tirade was over the small warrior was huffing and puffing, red in the face, and the others were trying to restrain their laughter.

The blue haired warrior grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a small tent. Kouha noticed how sweaty the man's hand was and the worried look he wasn't even trying to hide. Surely his brother wouldn't be mad that he was here, right? Kouha gulped and squeezed the man's hand, feeling his courage drain away with every step.

The others shouted somewhat encouraging words at them.

"Good luck, Seishuu!"

"We'll give you a proper burial!"

"I'll always remember your bravery! Your brother would be proud!"

"You are the best of us, Seishuu Ri!"

"None of you are allowed to set foot at my funeral," the man called Seishuu shouted back over his shoulder.

To Kouha's relief Seishuu stopped just before entering the tent. At this point, he could hear the voices of his two brothers conversing, using lots of fancy words he didn't really understand. He felt Seishuu let go of his hand. The small warrior got down on one knee and gripped Kouha tightly by the shoulders.

He spoke with a wavering voice, beads of sweat lining his brow. "If I don't make it out of there, tell my brother Seisyun that his big brother died valiantly in battle. Defending the honor of his lord to the very last drop of blood."

Kouha suddenly regretted coming.

Seishuu stood, took a deep breath, and poked his head into the tent. "Pardon the intrusion Lord Kouen, Lord Koumei. But we have a bit of a problem."

"What is it?" Kouha heard his brother Kouen say.

Taking that as his cue to enter, Seishuu stepped inside the tent and pulled Kouha inside with him.

"I found this."

Everything was quiet. Kouha felt the tension in the air like two hands wrapped around his neck and judging by how pale Seishuu was, he felt it too.

"Do you have any excuse for being here?"

His brother's voice, deep and gruff, seemed to echo in the tiny space.

It was only when he decided to look up that he realized he'd been staring at his feet the whole time.

"I-I know how to ride a horse," Kouha declared.

Even though he didn't feel much like laughing-he was too scared for that-Kouha seared the image of his eldest brother shaking his head, an indescribable expression etched onto his features into his mind.

* * *

Khalil was having the time of his life.

Words were magical. He knew it as fact. Not necessarily magical, magical with the incantations, the fire and brimstone and all the powers that made tiny, weak-minded men into heroes but magical in a subtle way. Khalil adored subtlety almost as much as turning things over on their head. At long last he had the opportunity to use his words to the fullest extent of their capabilities.

There was power in words. String a few choice sentences together and all of a sudden lives are ruined, kingdoms fall apart, and emperors are brought to their knees.

Perhaps that was a tad bit hyperbolic but all things considered, being the chief advisor to Karim's governor, Khalil thought himself to be a pretty powerful man and he was most certainly about to ruin some lives.

He strode into the brothel with shimmering jade eyes, a winning smile, and enough gold and silver pieces to buy an estate. A small price to pay for safety but it was all he could afford to give at the moment.

With the way things were so ornately decorated in the highly fashionable Reim style, one could almost mistake the place for a respectable establishment. If it weren't for all the prostitutes, of course. Khalil sniffed. There was a sweet fragrance to the air, floral. Looking around, it was no wonder. Roses, tulips, fritillaria, and poppy lined every window sill, accompanied every triclinium, every table. Likely put in place to ward of the stench of the place's vigorous activities.

A dark haired, scantily clad woman waltzed over to him, the swing of her hips both an invitation and a warning. The establishment's Madame, he presumed. Khalil might have even called her pretty if it hadn't been for the hateful sneer on her face. She jabbed a manicured finger in his face, pointed nail dangerously close to his cornea, painted lips peeling back in a snarl.

"Get. Out," she ground out.

Khalil's smile widened. Her appearance had changed drastically since the last time he'd seen her but Khalil would recognize that venom-laced voice anywhere.

"Sadly Amani, I did not come all the way over here in the heat of the day just to leave empty handed."

"Get out or I swear to all that is holy, I will shove my foot so far up your ass that you'll be able to taste the nail polish."

"On any other day with any other man, that might have gotten you a decent amount of money. But I'm not here to squabble or exchange insults or even harass your clientele."

She folded her arms across her ample chest, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Then why are you here, Khalil?"

He took a dramatic sweeping bow.

"Lovely Amani, the one and only shining star of my life, I have a proposition to make. One that will undoubtedly be worth your while."

"...I'm listening."

* * *

A/N: So yeah, short chapter this time. I honestly wasn't expecting that many follows or favorites with just the first chapter but anyway, thanks for reading this stupid story of mine. Review if you liked. Or review if you didn't like, that's good too.

-Crown Wit


	3. Caution Takes Precedence

_THREE_ : **Caution Takes Precedence**

Khalil waited and waited and waited some more for Amani to finish "tending to her girls" as she had put it. They had to prepare for the upcoming night shift, she'd told him after shoving him up the stairs and into a vacant room. Away from curious eyes. He appreciated the gesture. In spite of his constant efforts to remain enigmatic and unpredictable, Amani did know him best. But he was growing impatient and suspicious with each passing minute. It was an irritating sort of personality quirk of his, being suspicious of pretty much anyone he didn't know, but it came in handy every so often.

His so-called 'paranoia' had kept him alive all these years so it couldn't be all that bad, no matter how many times Amani tried to drill it into him that it was unnatural-the door creaked open and she stepped into the candlelit room. Think of the devil and she really will appear. I'd always thought that that was just a saying. Imagine that.

Shutting the door with a nudge of the foot, she let her long held pretense fall, her ugly scowl devolving into cold apathy. Khalil maintained his sweet smile. "What business do you have here, Khalil," she asked in that classic monotony which was so characteristic of Amani.

"I have come to request lodging. A few friends of mine will be needing a place to stay soon. I suspect that they'll arrive within the week."

The woman stared at him as stone cold as he remembered.

"I would be inclined to accept your request if not for the fact that these so-called friends of yours will undoubtedly add to my ongoing list of misfortunes caused by you."

They'd been friends once upon a time, she and him. Back when times were tougher and it took every ounce of strength and wit that he had to keep himself alive. Karim was a bad place to be under Kou's rule but it had been worse when ruled by their own.

"I can pay you," he offered.

"Of course you can. Money is the one thing you know I'll never refuse. It's the only card you have to play against me."

She hadn't always been so cold. There was a time when she'd smile and laugh and even make a few jokes. Khalil supposed that it wasn't her fault ending up this way. Time hadn't been too kind to Amani. Khalil had crossed many in his quest to escape the slums. He had lied, betrayed, and eventually clawed his way out. But Amani, dear, sweet, naïve Amani. She wasn't like him. Didn't have enough edge to make it out. So, here she was, heading a brothel, wallowing in the misery of her crushed dreams. Khalil supposed she blamed him for leaving her there. He sure as hell would have.

"Because we both know that if I appealed to your emotions as opposed to playing to your greed, it would be like walking up to a group of miners and asking to buy silk."

"Your words cut deep. If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were still upset at me."

Khalil laughed humorlessly.

"Upset? Few people have a high enough degree in stupidity to upset me. I do not get angry. Least of all because of you."

"I'm sorry, did you just admit that I'm smart? I couldn't make it out over the sound of your bullshit."

"Putting...all nostalgia aside, stuffing it into a wooden box, and then setting said box on fire, let's cut to the chase, shall we? Will you help me or not?"

"Help you? I thought it was your conveniently ambiguous friends who needed help. Speaking of which, considering the fact that you really don't have friends I am left wondering who exactly am I doing business for? I've found that it's best to know one's employer."

"I'm going to stop you right there. These people are important, Amani. And it is important that they have a safe place to stay, one that others would have a hard time finding. A whorehouse right outside the capital was the best I could come up with on such short notice. That and here I know there's someone I can trust."

He was lying through his teeth on that last bit. You could never trust a whore. Old advice from his mother, the only thing she'd ever bothered to teach him. He'd learned it too. The hard way. The only way a person could learn things like that. He could, however, trust in a whore's self interest. All he had to do was pray either that someone wouldn't offer up a better price for his head or that he had enough sense to tell when they had.

"But you can't trust me enough to tell me what the hell is going on?"

The earnestness in her voice surprised him and for an instant, he thought he saw his childhood friend again. The one he would play in the river with, the one he would steal for, and the one he had sworn to that he would never leave.

"Ah, well, the walls have ears, you know? And I can't take you back to the villa because people will talk. This game of mine requires the utmost secrecy."

"Fine then, have it your way. Just like always. You and your friends can stay here. No questions asked."

"There will be seven of them, not including myself."

"I'll make the arrangements. Anything else you need?"

"Do you know a good tailor, preferably one from Kou?"

Amani paused, "Random as always."

"Not for me, for Darya. You remember Darya, right?"

"Is she the blonde bimbo from Reim or the pretty Arash tavern girl with the tiny waist?"

"Neither. She's my apprentice."

"Your _what_?"

"I have an apprentice. I found her in the possession of a former general who was vacationing in Thana five years ago. He'd worked the poor thing half to death before I could gather up enough funds to buy her off him. She's a clever girl, sweet. I only wish that I could break her of that slave mentality. It's not easy considering the law still states that she's property but I swear that it will be broken what's with that look?"

"Oh nothing. I remember her now. Mixed right? Black hair, mocha skin, violet eyes? Young and sharp-tongued when you least expect it?"

"That's the one. She says she's twenty but in all honesty she could be younger. You know how the mandatory service system is."

"Corrupt, yes," she commented dully. "Lucky you, having a pretty young thing like that for an apprentice, eh? Always did have a thing for the smart ones."

Khalil nearly choked on his saliva. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You can't possibly be insinuating that I have entered into a non-professional relationship with a woman who is at least fifteen years younger than me?"

"Of course I am. Better men than you have done it."

"Well, I haven't."

"Yet."

"Stop."

"Why should I? It's only a matter of time."

"Because I'm asking you nicely?"

"Hah! No. You not having any involvement with her would be, let's see, what's that favorite saying of yours? Improbable but not impossible? You expect me to believe that you haven't had one lingering thought about dear, sweet, clever Darya?"

"Okay, this is getting uncomfortable. I think we're done here."

"Alright. I'll see you in a week then."

She always did know just what to say to have him running for the hills.

* * *

Eyes glued on old parchment, Darya's mind had long since stopped absorbing the hundred years worth of history she'd been force feeding for the past three hours. In comparison to the mystical and enigmatic origins of the Fanalis or the Torran tribe, Kou's linear historical progression was awfully drab.

Not counting the recent expansions and coup d'état.

War and betrayal were Karimi tradition and had made many into rich, decorated men. Going against what that nagging little voice in the back of her head had told her to do, she'd decided to brush up on her enemy. As the traveling author Guanyi wrote, ' _Caution takes precedence_ ' and the more she read, the more Darya discovered that Karim and Kou were quite similar in that respect.

Sighing and slumping back in her chair, she ran a hand through her thick black hair. Khalil wanted to keep the Imperial princes safe. The man who'd admittedly never held a sword in his life wanted to protect the Warmonger Prince, the owner of not one, not two, but three metal vessels and all who traveled with him.

Darya chuckled at the irony. With his connections, he could pull it off. Though it would involve placing trust in a handful of less than trustworthy people. Amani, Matthias, Cordova...Shevfrowned. No, Khalil wouldn't trust Cordova to wash his dog let alone with the fate of the nation. He'd never ask him for help. Not in this lifetime.

The fact that pushed Darya to her limits was that he didn't need her for this. Those colleagues (if you could even call them that) of his could handle this it. Their success would be...improbable but not totally impossible. Darya had nothing to do with his crackpot scheme. Nothing at all.

That oh so familiar feeling of unrest began to claw at her insides and slithered beneath her skin. It didn't come from the spiraling events in her home as her mentor had suggested. Karim could burn and she wouldn't give a single damn. Hell, she might even be glad for it. Darya chewed on her lower lip, head tilted up towards the gray sky, and the soles of her shoes made a swooshing sound as they brushed up against the ground.

She wanted to leave.

More than anything else, she wanted to run until her legs gave out and get as far away from here as humanly possible. Khalil wanted to protect them, those fools who were practically made of violence and cruelty. He wanted to fight for them and it followed that he wanted her to fight too.

He would make her fight, she could feel it. Like the twinge of electricity in the air before a storm, she knew. She sucked in air as her chest burned. She would go back. They would make her go back.

Darya sat upright, tried to still her trembling hands, and squeezed her eyes shut.

The world began to thrum in her ears with the steady beat of drums and footfalls.

She was slightly away from the battlefield but not safe. There was no such thing in this hell.

Blood and viscera lined the ground. The stench of piss, sweat, and bloody iron wafted through the air and made bile rise in her throat. She swallowed it back down with a hand clamped over her mouth and watched as full grown men, teens, and the occasional shock of white-haired Arash children cut each other to ribbons. Guts fell. Heads flew. People died left and right but Darya stayed put in the comfort of a hollow tree.

An Arash child was run through by a spearman on a horse to her left while Darya thanked the stars that it wasn't her. He fell to the ground with a look of surprise on his pale, blood-streaked face. Round face. Freckles. White hair, shaggy and straight like straw. Big violet eyes. She ingrained every aspect of his face into her memory; it was the only thing she could do for him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She would remember him.

The spearman was advancing towards her. She saw his clothes, his armor. The same ones that she wore. She saw his face, gaunt and angular like hers. His dark Karimi eyes met hers and it seemed like the whole world finally made sense. Darya scrambled to her feet, snatching up a sword made for someone twice her size. It dragged across the ground as she ran. He was fast though, much faster than her managed to get close enough to swipe her legs out from underneath her. The spearman moved to run her through when she saw his body go rigid, red so dark it looked black pouring out from his neck.

She stared gaping at the soldier as he yanked his knife out of the spearman's neck. Pale blue eyes. Kou armor. And just like that Darya's world fell back into chaos. Upon seeing her his face twisted with something she couldn't place.

"Run," he said.

"-Open your eyes," a soft-spoken voice called out to her. "You're having a flashback, Darya. Open your eyes." She obeyed the disembodied voice and found that she was not in the middle of a battle. Instead, she was home. Safe. And face to face with her best/only friend.

"Shiva?"

"The one and only. What happened? What were you experiencing?"

"I was at again Ezki. I…"

"Go on."

She remained quiet, hugging herself and gnawing on her lower lip. In a reassuring gesture, Shiva put a hand on her shoulder.

"That was then. This is now. I'll make some tea and we can talk."

Darya waited patiently, twiddling her thumbs both metaphorically and literally until Shiva returned with a freshly brewed pot of chamomile. He moved the scrolls to the side and set the brew and two porcelain teacups on the table.

She decided to start talking before he could inquire any further about her attack.

"Karim is shit."

Shiva paused in the middle of pouring the tea and gave her a look.

"Please tell me that you are not just noticing this now."

"Granted most of its shit can be attributed to the 'trust no one, only trust their self-interest' culture which the war instilled but I like to think on a much broader scale. Karim is a place where shit begets more shit and I have had enough of the shit that is Karoim."

"If Khalil heard all the ' _shits_ ' in that..."

Darya nearly jumped out of her seat. "Do not tell him I cursed, I swear he will disown me. Scholars are supposed to be above such vulgar expressions of frustration."

"Oh really? You should see him after two bottles of Marsala. Swears like a sailor."

Darya was the picture of incredulity. "Khalil doesn't drink."

"Not anymore. That's what the older servants say. Also, if you want to leave Karim so bad then why are you worrying about being disowned?"

"And since when do you listen to gossip?"

"Since forever."

"I want to learn as much as I can from him. If reading through the histories of fifty different nations has taught me anything it's that educated women are about as rare as black sheep."

"Your tea's getting cold."

"The steam is still rising from it."

"Then I suggest you drink before it actually gets cold."

She obliged albeit with an eye roll. She took the tea in her hands and blew on it gently. Lifting the cup to her lips, she let the calm and warmth wash over her.

"How long has it been since the last flashback? I can't remember."

Darya grimaced as she gulped down a mouthful of chamomile. "Nearly a year," she muttered.

The two fell into a comfortable silence. Head propped up in his hand, Shiva stared off into the distance, drumming his fingers on the table. Darya traced the rim of the teacup with her finger. Then, an idea occurred.

"Let's take a walk," she said, standing.

The villa, known to most as Arkosi's villa, was nice. An infinitely better place of residence than where Darya had imagined she would be staying by the time she reached her twenties. She would have considered herself lucky if she'd ended up in a brothel. At least she would have had a place to stay unlike so many others.

Yes, she concluded while aimlessly roaming the estate, the villa was a nice place to live.

Darya had heard that it was modeled after the homes in Reim, lavish in every conceivable way, what with its cream-colored stone, marble busts, regularly pruned gardens, and a library the size of the palace throne room. She'd never freely admit it but she much preferred spending her free time in the gardens rather than being cooped up in the library with texts that were sometimes five times her own age and smelled of it too.

No doubt that she was grateful to her mentor for his kindness and generosity. What little freedom she had now was thanks to him and in her mind she owed him quite literally everything.

"It's a commendable thing, dedicating oneself to the pursuit of truth and knowledge," Shiva stated. "Honorable, even."

But Darya of Arash was not an honorable woman.

She was a coward through and through with a love of escapism carved so deep, any hope of ridding herself of it would be as vain as hoping the dead back to life. Her master of five years had taught her as much. Karim had taught her as much.

Which was why, out of all the treasures that existed here in Arkosi's villa, Darya found the southern garden to be the crown jewel. It was small and secluded with twin gazebos built on opposing ends, facing each other, a shallow stone pond stuck in the center. She parked herself in the one on the left which gave her a good view of the blooming lavender and edelweiss. Shiva sat next to her.

Darya let her mind wander to the past sitting among clusters of anemones, blue salvia, and purple hyacinths.

The passing breeze was bittersweet with the scent of them. It seemed that she was in a nostalgic mood today.

* * *

Matthias was a sly old fucker whose legendary battle prowess was matched only by his extreme lack of propriety. Or that's what the rumors say. And with him having been at the forefront of Karim's defense, it was a wonder the nation lasted as long as it did. For it was none other than Matthias Argyris who first introduced the idea of using children as soldiers. Like a nettle among a sea of thorns, lord knows what an exiled man of Sasan was doing meddling in Karimi politics but he was there nevertheless. The sack of shit would sell out his own mother provided that he'd be payed enough. Such was the way of mercenaries.

"You are the best of us, Maalik! Truly a man of honor and deserving of Karim's praise!"

Khalil might have oversold it.

Maalik's brow quirked up as he sipped on an ornate goblet of wine, sunken steely gray eyes never leaving Khalil's face. "Really now? _I_ whose loyalty depends upon whichever employer has the deepest pockets am a man of honor?" Judgement and suspicion coated every syllable - like something you'd hear from a jealous lover.

He'd definitely oversold it. As it turned out, Maalik wasn't half the praise-seeking attention whore that the rumors made him out to be. That's what he got for listening to so much palace gossip. _Well_ , Khalil thought, _time for damage control_.

"What could be more honorable than the pursuit of one's best interest?"

Mercenaries were much like whores, apparently. A smile crept onto Maalik's face.

"Words to live by. Now, to business. What do you want."

Straight to the point then. Khalil never liked straightforward men. Harder to win over with words the ones who speak so few.

"Yes, let's keep this brief, shall we? Your reputation as the best mercenary on this side of the world proceeds you and I am in need of your services."

"Kou's princes should be arriving within the week. They'll need protection."

"I'll bet. How much are you offering?"

"One hundred gold pieces up front and two hundred after they've safely departed has been completed."

"Hard to argue with that amount. Even if it is for a coup d'état. That _is_ what you are paying me for right?"

"Oh heavens no! All you and your men have to do is keep the princes safe from any harm that may befall them. A coup? Hah! No one ever told me you have a sense of humor."

"Do you take me for a fool? Keeping the imperial morons alive is an act of treason in itself. It's bad enough the governor of this shithole is funding the secessionists but damn near everyone remembers the war and has a bone to pick with Kou anyway. Saving them would make a traitor out of God Himself! The executions would go on long past the deaths of everyone involved. However, that's assuming I fail which I try not to make a habit of. If and when we succeed, the governor along with most if not all of the secessionists will have been executed and Karim will be without direct rule. And that is where you, as the prime orchestrator of this fantastical little operation, come in, taking the both the spotlight and - with Kou's blessing for saving their royal asses - the governorship of Karim."

Khalil shrugged.

"That's the plan."

* * *

Koumei cut his eyes from one brother to the other.

"Does he really need to be here?" He asked in a hushed voice.

Kouha had the look of a gazelle stuck in the middle of a lion pride, pink eyes darting this way and that. He sat in between Seishuu and Shou suddenly looking very much his age.

"He wanted to be here and he's here," Kouen responded in his typical matter-of-fact fashion.

 _Here._

In every sense of the word then.

Perfect.

Not only did he have to watch out for his own skin but his baby brother's too. Admittedly, they weren't exactly close, he could only really talk to him when Kouen was around. The nine year old had been adamant about his disdain for him. But if Koumei Ren had learned anything from his cousins' unfortunate fate, it was that family needed to stick together. Especially when trying to force a paradigm shift the whole world over.

"Alright. To business then."

He stood, rubbed at his neck, and unfurled a map of Karim. He put his finger near the border.

"We will enter through Ezki which will most likely be the first place they try to kill us. It's a poor city, still hasn't recovered from the war. Watch the rooftops for archers, anyone with particularly baggy clothing, and those hiding their face. From there we'll make our way to the capital by taking to the country routes and avoiding the big cities. I don't foresee much trouble with the rural folk there however this does not mean that any of you are to let your guard down. Caution takes precedence. Understood?"

Everyone gave either a verbal or visual confirmation. "Dismissed."

Koumei glanced at his younger brother as he followed the others outside. The fear had gone away from his face. He was smiling, wide and feral. The boy saw nothing but the prospect of respect and battle glory on the horizon, knowing nothing of the horrors of war. The middle prince frowned. Kouha would learn sooner or later what the battlefield was really like and would no doubt be crushed by the realization that all the stories involving valiant heroes were nothing but quaint fairy tales.

"You look worried."

"How can I not be? Kouha is nine and we are essentially sending him into his first battle."

Kouen shot him a questioning look. For all the smarts his brother possessed, it seemed the universe compensated by depriving him of most social smarts.

"He's a _child_ , Kouen."

"And so were we. I tried to keep him from it. Told him that his coming with us wouldn't do any good but he came anyway." Koumei pursed his lips. He was just like the two of them when they were his age. A lot more eager to get to the killing but the similarities were there. "Kouha is our brother," Kouen concluded. "It won't do him any good to keep him out of this."

"It's bound to mess with his head if he starts killing this young."

"And that's why we'll watch him. Explain things to him. Tell him what's right and what's wrong and put the fear of god into him whenever he strays."

"...You're damn right we will."

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A/N: Wow this took some time to write. Thanks to XxLostInTheMusicxX and Elysa for the lovely reviews. Glad you enjoyed it. And as always, if you have anything to say - bad, good, questions, or just a rant of your life story, please review~

-Crown Wit


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